"For the McKinnons. They've had a baby." Viola snorted.
"Another?" She looped around him, long fingers trailing down his arm. "Haven't they been busy." Dean smirked, looking up his eyelashes at her. Viola raised her eyebrows.
"We could be busy," Dean laughed, trying and failing to keep a straight face. Viola's shoulders began to tremble as she collapsed into laughter. "Oh, like you can do coy," he chuckled.
"Can't I?" She leaned on the gardener's bench across from him, her dress dipping down just over her chest. Dean inhaled, and her smile grew. "Is this not... Enticing enough?" She bit her lip and shifted her weight, neckline falling even deeper.
"Vi." He set down his clippers, hands trembling.
"You want me to stop?" The smile playing on her lips faded, and a desire, bright and burning, filled her face. He dropped the rose, rested his hands for a moment on the workbench, eyes fixed on hers. She watched as he breathed, in and out with a slow, steady rhythm that spoke of things other than calm.
"Viola." The force on her name made her shiver.
He noticed.
It took less than a second for Dean to step around the workbench, and Viola hardly had time to breathe before he kissed her. The force with which they collided ripped a literal growl from him, bodies pressed up against each other, all heat and friction and need. His hands grasped at her waist, fingers digging into the fabric, sliding up and down her back. She reached behind him, pulled blindly at the strings of his apron.
He pulled away for a moment, and Viola pulled it over his head. They reconnected immediately, mouths pressing together. He bent his head, kissing down the side of her neck. Viola leant back, arching up into his touch as he undid the back of her dress. His fingers were still trembling slightly, and she smiled, pressing a kiss into his temple. His fingers stroked down her spine as more and more of her skin was revealed. Her fingers tangled in his hair, breath shaking in and out of her as his lips traveled over her shoulder to her collarbone.
"Dean," she breathed, and she could feel him smile.
It felt like a challenge, so she used the grip she had on his head to pull him back up to her lips. His grip on her loosened, and she furiously began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He reached down to help, and she swatted his hands away. This was her little bit of revenge, and she'd make the most fo it while she could. She pushed his jacket down off of his shoulders, and he dropped his arms to let it slide off. He chuckled into her mouth and kissed her harder, as she yanked and tore at the buttons of his shirt until it was open. She made a frustrated, unintelligible noise, and broke away to force the thing away from her. He laughed all the harder, and Viola rolled her eyes, letting a grin back onto her face. Her hair was falling in tangled curls about her face, lips cherry red and face flushed, and Dean honestly thought her the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Shut up," she muttered, blushing further as he gazed at her. "You're a worse mess than I am."
"And whose fault is that, eh?" His laughter only increased, arms twining about her waist. She snorted, as she had when she'd first walked in, and he felt a sudden irrepressible need to kiss her. So he did. She melted a little, in his arms, and he took the chance to push her dress down. It slithered down, silver and white, and puddled around her ankles. She made a soft sound that could have been 'oh' and could have been 'nyah'.
Dean unbuttoned his pants, and she, with characteristic aplomb, simply shoved them down. He kicked out with his toes, caught the fallen apron so it flopped out flat. Her forehead crinkled, and he savored the single second of surprise in her eyes as he dropped her gently to the ground. Laid out flat on the grey stone, dark hair spread out like waves around her head, Viola reached an arm around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He rested their foreheads together for a moment and breathed.
"Uncomfortable?" He asked.
"No." She hummed, twisting their legs together. "Smells nice."
And it did. Lilies and roses, freesia and peonies, flowers of all shapes and sizes and smells surrounded them. Dean breathed in her skin, buried his nose in her shoulder, and thrust into her. She arched up, a long smooth line, mouth opened wide in rapture. She drew air back into her throat as he drew back again.
"Dean," she breathed, and he felt a strange sense fo peace in a corner of his heart. "My Dean."
She breathed in perfume and salt, dirt and sweat and soft, flowered air. Her husband and the flowers he grew surrounded her, and as he drew back and thrust in she raked rounded nail across his back, clutching him to her chest. There were pieces of him, small parts of his heart and mind that nobody but her saw, and this was one of them.
"I love you," he whispered, falling over the edge of release. She almost doesn't hear, so far gone is she, but when he repeats it she hears it like victorious thunder. "I love you, Vi."
She smiled, gentle and shy and a little disbelieving.
"I love you, Dean." He reached out a finger, traced the edges and bones of her face. Drew a dark curl back behind her ear. They lay there for a few moments, just breathing, just quiet.
"Mr. O'Banion?" A voice came closer and Viola made a face. They were both still sprawled out over his apron, naked and a bit (okay, a lot) sweaty, and neither one was really up to either standing up or fetching their clothes. "Mr. O- oh christ!" It was Mueller, the man Dean had been training lately, and he was absolutely mortified. His face was a mixture of horror, embarrassment, interest and disgust.
"Fuck off, Mueller," Dean laughed, always so amused at others' misfortune. Not that Viola would call seeing her naked a misfortune. She can't resist a giggle herself, really, and after a second glance at Mueller's face, she devolves into full-blown laughter.
"That's just unsanitary," Mueller mutters, turning away, and he sounds so scandalized that it just seems ridiculous.
A/N:
don't look at me I have Diola feels.